Spill a little
I love the images that the word spill can set off: spilled milk, or worse (spill the wine). Spilling the beans. Spilling rain. Or the one I inadvertently went through this evening: spilled grapes. It could have been a disaster.
My dog loves grapes. Not raisins; they’re bad for the kidneys. Grapes. Preferably fat, juicy, cold from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. She becomes a loving, polite, watchful companion. Ready for the storm, as Déanta sings. Tonight, I spilled the grapes.
A full bowl, carefully removed from the branch. Ready for a shared session in front of the TV watching American Idol. We’re down to the final four three (LaKisha is going home, leaving Blake, Jordin and Melinda to take us through to the final sprint). As Ryan made his announcement, showing how much taller Jordin is than him, as he did his usual stylistic job of spilling the beans, I spilled the bowl of grapes. On the carpet, all around the pup.
Now, this could have been a video, with our last dog. Instead, no “Dine And Dash”. No race to cram as many grapes in the muzzle as possible. No reaction. This is one polite (in dog terms) dog. She waited for me to refill the bowl, and then she went back to begging for her fair share, which by now is pretty close to monopoly status. The Lord Black of the dog with grapes world.
Maybe the obedience courses were useful. Or maybe she’s figured out that the only one with floor eating rights is her. Patience is a virtue, and clumsiness is a bountiful blessing.
In other news, this makes my 500th posting. I didn’t realize how much fun this whole blogging thing could be. Certainly healthier than One-A-Day tablets. If you’ve been hesitating, take this as encouragement to start your own monologue.
